


I feel protective of you

by NotPersephone



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bedannibal in Florence, F/M, sickfic of sorts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 07:34:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10962636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotPersephone/pseuds/NotPersephone
Summary: When Bedelia injures her ankle, Hannibal wants nothing more than to be of assistance.





	I feel protective of you

Two thoughts run through her mind: first one was questioning the practicality of cobblestone pavements in the 21st century, the second was to never admit he was right.

The storm over Florence had ended, clearing the heavy aura and bringing crisp breeze through the city. Bedelia enjoyed that freshness; all the scents intensified, the air more fragrant than usual. Taking advantage of a moment, she chose to take a walk.

Unfortunately, her pleasure is short-lived. As she is walking down a narrow alley, her stiletto slips on a wet stone surface. A sudden cry leaves her lips, as her left ankle twists. She composes herself immediately, but a throbbing pain tells her that something is wrong.

Knowing her love for high heels, Hannibal had warned her about the uneven Italian pavements and insisted on accompanying her on all the walks, the notion she had dismissed as being absurd. She can manage perfectly fine by herself. Even in a moment like that.

It is fortunate that the alley is empty; she does not want any witnesses to her weakness. She attempts to look collected, not letting her discomfort show, even though the pain increases with every step. She reaches a main street and flags a taxi.

 

When they reach her address, she pays the driver and does not wait for change. The adrenaline rush might end any minute and she does not wish to rely on strangers to assist her. The next few minutes are a blur, until her hand reaches for the familiar knob. Bedelia opens the door and stumbles towards the nearest chair.

“What is the matter?” Hannibal alarmed voice reaches her ears. She can hear him rushing towards her, but he stops when he hears her stern voice.

“It is fine, Hannibal,” she hopes her voice sounds normal. But as soon as she her hand reaches to remove the shoe and touches her leg, she cries out in pain.

He is by her side in a blink of her eye.

“What happened?” alarm turns to concern as he kneels at her feet.

“I slipped on a wet pavement stone,” she reluctantly admits.

She expects a smart remark of sorts, but he makes no comments, continuing to examine her swollen ankle with care.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“No.”

“I think this is only a minor sprain, but we should go to a hospital, just to make sure,” he leaves to call for a taxi and Bedelia manages to put her shoes back on.

Hannibal returns and gazes at the shoes on her feet, but says nothing. He offers his arm, but she pretends not to notice as she takes a step forward. Her leg buckles as new jolt of pain speeds through her body and Hannibal wraps his arm around waist, preventing her from collapsing. She has no choice, but to lean on him as they slowly leave the apartment. They reach the staircase and Bedelia stops; she ascended the stairs a short while back, but now the task seems impossible. Sensing her hesitation, Hannibal scoops her up in his arms and carries her down, all the way to the taxi.

 

When the car arrives at the hospital and Hannibal opens the door for her, Bedelia fears he might lift her up again. It is one thing for him to carry her in an empty corridor, but to do so in a public place would be unacceptable. To her relief, he does not, simply offering her support as they walk towards the entrance.

She is seen immediately, which surprises her, and knows Hannibal must have somehow arranged that. It is a sprain, as he predicted, still it requires her to wear a brace and avoid putting pressure on the leg for a few weeks. Bedelia learns all that as Hannibal translates from Italian. The jovial, grey haired doctor looks at them with a smile, clearly charmed by her and her worried husband.

He asks another question and Hannibal hesitates.

“What is it?” Bedelia is perplexed.

“He asks if you require crutches.”

“Of course. How else do you expect me to walk?”

Hannibal looks as though he is about to respond, but does not.

 

Upon returning from the hospital, Bedelia puts the crutches to a test as she walks up the stairs. It is a slow and difficult task, but she is managing. She can sense Hannibal’s desire to assist her, but he settles for walking slowly behind her, ready to catch her if she stumbled.

She heads straight for the bedroom. It was an exhausting day and she needs nothing by sleep, preferably before the pain medications wear off.

 

Bedelia wakes up the following morning to only a slight discomfort in her ankle. She feels relieved and determined to return to her routine as soon as possible. There is a croissant and a cup of her favourite cappuccino waiting for her at the bedside table. It is not unusual for him to bring her breakfast to bed, but today the setting somehow irritates her. Possibly because of the accompanying note, in Hannibal’s perfect handwriting, which reads: _In case you need anything, please call me_. Still, she enjoys the fresh pastry with creamy, soft hazelnut centre and ponders when did Hannibal find the time to make it. After finishing, she manages to bring the dishes back to the kitchen, balancing the tray in one hand and a crutch in the other. She was capable of taking care of herself up to this point and does not need to be looked after.

Hannibal returns home earlier than usual, perhaps alarmed by the lack of her phone calls. He finds her in bed, reading.

“How are you feeling?” concern pours out of his every word.

“I am fine, Hannibal,” she simply replies,” it’s only a sprained ankle.”

 

Her returned confidence is put to a test, when she prepares for her bath that evening. The last day was challenging for her and hot water will help her unwind, as it always does.

The bathtub fills with steaming water and fragrant oils. Bedelia breaths in the aroma, pleased with the selection of rosemary and lavender. But then she is faced with a dilemma; how to get into the tub without putting pressure on her ankle. She examines all the options, when Hannibal’s voice sounds behind her.

“Would you like me to help you?”

As much as she would like to find another solution, this seems to be the only option.

“Yes, please,” she avoids meeting his gaze, peeling off her teal robe and draping it across the chair.

She puts her arms around his neck as he lifts her up and helps her lower herself into the bathtub, keeping her left leg on the edge, above the water level. Bedelia lets out a hiss of relieve as the hot water washes over her. Hannibal folds a small towel and puts in under her ankle for support.

“Are you comfortable?” he finally asks.

“Yes, thank you.”

Hannibal gives her a smile before leaving the bathroom.

The bath oils begin to work on relaxing her tense muscles and Bedelia pushes away the thought of needing his assistance when the bath is done. She closes her eyes and focuses on the wonderful feeling of water caressing her skin.

The water is almost tepid when she finally opens her eyes. She sits up, resigned to call Hannibal, but when she turns, she finds him walking towards the bathroom. It appears that his many talents include mind-reading.

He says nothing, waiting for her word. She simply nods her head and he moves to stand by the tub in two quick steps. Hannibal rolls up his sleeves and she wraps her arms around his neck once more as he lifts her out of the bathtub, uncaring about his immaculately tailored shirt getting wet.

Bedelia cannot deny the sudden exhilaration she feels each time he pulls her into his arms. She marvels at the swiftness and effortless of his movements, his grip secure, yet he always holds her with utter tenderness. But she is not ready to admit that, especially not _now_.

He puts her gently on the floor and wraps her first in a towel, then in his arms, as he has done countless time before. He runs his hands up and down her back, drying it, before unwinding the towel, casting it aside and holding up the bathrobe as she slips it back on. Bedelia barely gets a chance to tie the sash, before he scoops her up in his arms again.

“You are enjoying this a bit too much, aren’t you?” her piercing eyes glare at him.

“You are hurt. How can I enjoy that?” the words leave his mouth, but a smug smile on his face says otherwise.

 

They enter the bedroom and Hannibal lays her down on the bed with an outmost care. Then he leaves, only to come back a few minutes later with two glasses of their usual evening brandy, a welcome return to the normal routine. Bedelia accepts hers with a nod and a thank you, but watches as Hannibal puts his glass down on the floor and sits himself at the foot of the bed. He takes a pillow and puts it on his lap, then gently takes her leg and places the foot on that pillow. She inhales sharply.

“Did I hurt you?” Hannibal asks immediately.

“No, but I am puzzled by what you are attempting to achieve here.”

“The doctor advised to keep the leg elevated. It lessens the pressure on the ankle.”

“I do not believe he meant on _your lap_ ,” she retorts.

“I want to make sure you are all right,” he says with earnestness.

“A bit too late for that, the damage is already done.”

He says nothing and Bedelia observes as his hands gently caress her leg, making sure not to touch the ankle. It’s pleasurable, but an insistent thought lingers on Bedelia’s mind, making it impossible to relax.

“Aren’t you going to say it?”

“Say what?”

“I told you so,” to be on a potential receiving end of such remark is a first for Bedelia and she does not wish to prolong it.

“No. Why would I? This was an accident, it could happen to anyone. I merely wish to protect you.”

His hands rest on both sides of her foot, as though ready to fend off any thread. Her knight in a dark armour save guarding her ankle from all danger.

Bedelia smiles at the sight, sets the glass to the side and lets her head fall back onto her pillow. She closes her eyes and drifts away, allowing him to watch over her and her injured leg.

 

The following afternoon Bedelia finds a red box adorned with a golden ribbon sitting atop her vanity.

There is another note from Hannibal which reads: _Please consider this is as a temporary solution, only until your ankle heals._

She opens the box to find a pair of red Ferragamo flats. Bedelia decides she will wear them the next time she goes for a walk. Together with Hannibal.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired, of course, by Gillian's actual injury. When I saw her on crutches at the TV Bafta awards, my first thought was that Hannibal would never let Bedelia struggle like that. He might be a cannibal, but he is also a gentleman.  
> Thank you to kmo for the prompt! ♥


End file.
